Not Alone Anymore
by Watermelonsmellinfellon
Summary: Sherlock is a single mother who needs a flatmate in order to move into a bigger flat with her daughter. Problem, no one bothers to see the flat once they know she has a daughter. Jean is an ex-soldier looking for a flat-share and excitement. Problem, her life is extremely boring and she can't walk normally. The three end up being what each other needs. A/N: FEM-SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. THE LINK IS ON MY PROFILE. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 _Hm. About 10.5 kg overweight. In need of a hip replacement. Arthritis. Between forty and fifty years of age._

 _Next person. Common rebellious teen. Belly ring and tattoo and judging by look on mother's face, they aren't wanted or allowed. Failed an exam earlier in the day and is struggling on how to break it to the parents. Boring._

 _Mike Stamford just walked in with a woman. Definitely not his wife. While having never met her, it's easy to tell how uncomfortable the two are standing by each other. Old friends, lost contact over time. The woman is injured and walks with a limp. But… the limp isn't from an injury. She's just standing there like she doesn't realize she has a limp anymore. Maybe it's all mental. Can't remember the term, not like it matters._

 _Hm… she stands proudly. Her hair is short, pixie cut and well taken care of. Former military possibly. Wounded in action then. Left hand, tremor. Shot in the shoulder then. Hm…_

 _She is not boring._

Twyla Athela Holmes pushed a stray, black curl behind her ear. Eerie blue eyes piercing the woman with Mike Stamford. She would like to get to know her. She was different than the others.

Mike made a motion that suggested the woman wait for a moment. Twyla took her chance and pushed off the wall, making her way over to the blonde woman whom though being rather small in stature, seemed big in presence.

The woman's eyes locked onto her as she neared. They were a dark shade of blue and they searched Twyla from head to foot in slight wariness, before her shoulders relaxed. Definitely military.

"I can't reach the top buttons on the vending machine, can you help me?" Twyla asked in her cutest voice. She was only five years old after all. She pulled off adorable rather well.

The woman's countenance softened and she glanced back to where Mike had gone, before looking over to the small room where the vending machines were. Not new to Barts, even though Twyla had never seen her before.

Could have been patient or had family go.

"Sure, lass."

 _No, light Scottish brogue. Not native to England. So then, came to England for a reason. School most likely. Familiarity with hospital and Mike Stamford suggests trained at Barts, so military doctor. Okay then._

Twyla gave a small smile and led her on over, handing her the notes and telling her which tea she wanted from the vendor. The woman quickly and efficiently got the tea and gave it to Twyla with care.

"Are you here alone?" the woman asked, looking around.

"No. My mother is in the morgue. I'd be back there too, but the head specialist registrar/forensic pathologist is with her and Molly doesn't think five year olds should play with lab equipment or be in morgues," Twyla sighed with an eye roll, hating that Molly had to be so responsible. It's not like she or mummy would tell on her or anything.

"Oh," the woman nodded, looking a bit put off. "Pity."

"Indeed. Thank you for your help."

"No problem. Are you certain you're okay staying out here alone?"

Twyla grinned. "Don't worry. Mummy has eyes _everywhere_."

Twyla turned and flounced from the adjoining room and into the back doors when none of the nurses were paying attention. She'd sneak into the lab if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Jean Harva Watson limped back over to the desk and smiled as Mike returned. "Shall we?"

He led her down to the labs where he would introduce her to his friend who was looking for a flatmate.

Into Lab 4, Jean looked around, noting the changes.

"Bit different from my day."

Mike huffed a laugh. "You have no idea."

The woman on the far side of the room was tall, with shoulder length, black curls and sharp cheekbones. Jean couldn't see her eyes from the distance, but she was sure they would be just as striking. She wore a tailored pantsuit that made her look even taller.

"Mike can I borrow your phone, there's no signal on mine."

A nice voice too.

"What's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text."

"It's in my other coat, sorry."

Jean was raised with good manners. She couldn't very well let the poor woman go, could she?

"Here," she said, offering her mobile. "You can use mine."

She had the woman's attention now.

"Oh," she smirked lightly. Perfect cupid's bow lips. Jean was becoming a pervert over someone she hadn't even been introduced to!

"Thank you."

She sauntered - because there was no other way to describe such a gait - on over and took the proffered phone from Jean's hands. Up close, Jean could see shining, light blue eyes. Just as amazing as the rest of her.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Jean froze and blinked. _What?_ "I'm sorry, what?" Maybe she heard wrong?

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" the woman asked, looking over her shoulder to catch Jean's eye.

"Afghanistan," Jean stuttered out, feeling confused.

The door of the lab opened just as Jean was about to ask a question. Jean stiffened on reflex. The tall woman turned and gave a fake smile to whomever was behind Jean. "Thank you, Molly."

She handed Jean's phone back while still looking at Molly, who was standing behind Jean. Jean recognized the name. The little girl had mentioned it.

"You removed the lipstick?"

"Uh… it wasn't working for me," the woman behind Jean stuttered.

"I thought it was an improvement. Your mouth doesn't _pop_ as much, now."

"Okay!"

From what Jean just got out of that, Molly was infatuated with this amazing woman - and how could she not be? - and the woman was not interested in return. Tough.

Molly left the lab.

Mike was grinning. "This is an old friend of mine, Jean Watson."

There was a nod in Jean's direction.

The woman glanced at her. "How do you feel about the violin?"

"It's fine?"

"Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

"Do you have a medical condition that I need to know about?" Jean asked with worry. Though how the woman knew that she was there to ask about being flatmates, she'd never know.

The woman smirked a bit. "Finally, do you have any aversion to children?"

And out from behind the long end of the lab table, walked the little girl from earlier. Her curls bounced as she walked. Jean had to wonder how she didn't notice the resemblance between them. They could be twins, though one was younger with chubby cheeks. Still.

The little girl gave a small wave.

"Uh… I don't really mind. She's a sweet lass."

The woman and child shared a look, before both nodded.

The woman turned and gave Jean a small smile, "I'm Wilona Sherlock Scarlette Holmes and this is my daughter Twyla Athela Holmes."

"Nice to meet you."

* * *

 **A/N: First is done.**

 **-Jean is another feminine version of Jane or Joan. I feel that people use Joan too much in the genderbent Johnlocks. Harva mean 'army warrior'.**

 **-Twyla means 'woven with double thread' and Athela is a Greek name meaning 'goddess of wisdom'.**

 **-Wilona means 'desired'. Scarlette is a shade of red.**

 **-Who is Twyla's father? Can you guess?**

 **How was it? Let me know!**

 **Check out my other Johnlock fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. THE LINK IS ON MY PROFILE. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

Jean's head tilted just slightly at the sight of the mother and daughter pulling up to the door of 221B on Baker Street. Sherlock smiled calmly and Twyla offered a tiny wave, hiding her face in the large collar of her black, trench coat.

"Hello, Ms. Holmes, little Ms. Holmes."

Twyla's nose wrinkled a bit. "Just call me Twyla, Jean."

Jean smiled.

"Just Sherlock, please," her mother added with a smirk.

"Now, I helped Mrs. Hudson a few years back when her husband was arrested in Florida and she promised that should I ever need a place to stay, she'd give me a discount on one of her flats. We can afford it just fine."

"You helped free her husband?"

"No, I ensured his lethal injection." Sherlock grinned, eyes sparkling.

Jean was going to need the full story behind that because the man had to have done something horrible if his wife was willing to help the woman who ensured her husband's demise.

The door of 221B opened, revealing an older lady, wearing a mauve colored dress. Her hair was a little longer than Jean's and a little lighter in color as well. She smiled brightly at Sherlock and Twyla. "Hello, dears! Is this Doctor Watson?"

Jean shook the woman's hand gently, "Pleasure, ma'am."

"Such a sweet dear! Come in! Come in!"

Jean swept an arm out, gesturing for Sherlock and Twyla to go first. Her manners wouldn't allow anything else. Besides, she was slow thanks to the cane and didn't want to hinder their progress.

Twyla rushed up the stairs quickly and Sherlock turned around, walking up backwards, keeping an eye on Jean.

"You don't have to wait for me."

"I'd prefer that you don't fall. None of us have the strength to carry you, Mrs. Hudson has a bad hip, Twyla is too small, and the martial arts that I know uses my opponent's strength against them, leaving me free to run."

Jean smiled. Though Sherlock had said it all with a straight face, she obviously cared about her daughter and friend. It was sweet.

She made it to the top, following Sherlock into 221B and looking around the sitting room. The walls were painted green in some places and covered in a tan/burgundy fleur de lis wallpaper in other places. It looked cozy. Two large windows straight ahead with a table between them. A sofa on the far right with a coffee table in front of it. Two chairs - a Union Jack pillow on one - toward the fireplace to the left. The fireplace had a large mantelpiece. Random knick knacks lying about. There was a skull on the mantel. A real skull too.

Sherlock must have noticed her drawn gaze, because she snatched the skull off the mantel and said, "A friend of mine. When I say friend, I mean-"

"A memento," Jean said quietly. "It's okay."

Sherlock nodded, brows quirking a bit as she placed the skull back.

Jean liked the decorations. They just seemed so, homey.

Jean grinned at the bison skull on the wall in front of her and placed jokingly over where the ears would be, was a pair of headphones.

"I like it."

Sherlock looked around, "I could clean up a bit, yes, but we moved everything last night-"

"Sherlock," Jean interrupted with a smile. "I said 'I like it'."

"Oh."

Twyla came out from what looked to be the kitchen, holding a biscuit. Mrs. Hudson was smiling. "Dear, there's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

Jean's face flushed instantly, looking to Sherlock who was standing off to the side, looking out one of the windows.

"I'll need the other bedroom. But what about Twyla?"

"She and I are sharing a room as I don't sleep often and I don't need as much sleep as other people," Sherlock explained.

Twyla nodded, "We like the same things. I don't need a room because mummy's room is good and she has a big bed which is good for forts."

"Okay then. Mrs. Hudson, where do I sign?"

"You haven't even asked how much."

"I'm sure it won't matter. This is the nicest I've seen and I'm not foolish enough to pass it up."

"I have the lease on the table, dear. I'll get it for you."

Jean sighed. The leg again. People always making allowances for it. Mrs. Hudson handed over the paper and Jean quickly read it over before signing beside Sherlock's name.

Loud footsteps up the stairs had all of them looking toward the door.

A man who was much taller than Jean, with bright silver hair, walked into the room. He stopped at the sight of Jean, before looking to Sherlock and Twyla.

"Sherlock, we need you."

"For what?"

"You know those suicides in the news? Especially the last one you decided to comment on while we were having a press conference?"

"Yes."

"Well there's been another one, but this one managed to scratch out some kind of note, leading me to believe it wasn't a willing suicide. Will you come?"

Sherlock hummed, "Who's on forensics?"

The man hesitated, before sighing. "Anderson."

Both Twyla and Sherlock rolled their eyes, letting out a simultaneous, "Ugh!"

"He doesn't want to work with me, idiotic, sexist arse," Sherlock added on with a sneer.

"Sherlock!" Jean, Mrs. Hudson, and the man scolded, all of them looking to Twyla who simply rolled her eyes again.

"He is!"

"Little ears will hear," Jean added with a frown.

"She's smart enough to know that she cannot curse until she is twelve, Jean."

Only twelve?

"Anyway, Anderson isn't your assistant."

"But I will _need_ one and-"

Sherlock whipped around to look at Jean. "You're a doctor. In fact, you're an army doctor," she stated with a grin.

"Yes."

"Seen a lot of gore, violent deaths?" Sherlock asked, taking a step closer to Jean.

"Yes."

"A bit of trouble too?"

"Yes. Some would think it all too much for one lifetime."

Sherlock was almost pressed up against Jean now. She was leaning over the short doctor, eyes sparkling with excitement, "Want to see some more?"

"Oh, God yes."

Jean really hoped that her voice didn't sound as sexual and she thought it did.

" _Okay_!" the man said suddenly. "Crime scene now, ladies?"

Damn, it did. Oh well.

"We'll follow behind you. Where is it?" Sherlock said, still staring at Jean.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"Right behind you. Mrs. Hudson, could I impose upon you to watch Twyla?"

"I want to come!"

"You remember how Lestrade won't allow you inside the room when there is a dead body around, else I can't help at all?"

Twyla was pouting. "Can I stand _outside_ the room where the dead body is?"

Sherlock looked to the silver man, who sighed. "She's can't see the body. I don't want a child seeing this kind of thing Sherlock. I shouldn't even be letting _you_ into crime scenes."

"Yes, but you need me."

"God help me, I do. Fine, but she'll have to remain with Sally."

"Ugh! Can I stay with Jean?"

"I will need Jean's help."

"Can Jean came back to me when you don't need her? Please? I hate Donovan."

Jean simply sat back as mother and daughter worked it all out. She didn't mind watching the lass.

"And she called me your 'freak spawn' the last time I saw her."

Jean's eyes narrowed. "I'll watch her for you." Calling a child something so terrible, what was wrong with this Sally Donovan?

The silver man sighed, "I'll have a talk with her, don't worry, Sherlock. Shall we go now?"

"Yes. Come, Jean, Twyla. Mrs. Hudson, we'll return later! The game... is on!"

* * *

 **A/N: Another is done!**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


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